


Trying Another Tactic

by MistressPandora



Category: Lord John Series - Diana Gabaldon, Outlander & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angry Sex, Cutting the sexual tension with a broadsword, Fighting to fornication, M/M, Oral sex to end an argument, Porn With Very Little Plot, such smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23522740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressPandora/pseuds/MistressPandora
Summary: The genesis of the argument wasn't important. Yet here Grey was,once againengaged in a shouting match with Jamie Frigging Fraser. Until they realized why they were fighting, and it had nothing at all to do with the words that were said. Time to try a new tactic.
Relationships: Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey
Comments: 27
Kudos: 122
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Outlander Bingo Challenge





	Trying Another Tactic

**Author's Note:**

> Lovingly dedicated to the friends of Sassenach Ridge.
> 
> The inspiration for this wee bit of smut comes from every argument in _The Scottish Prisoner_ that sounds like Jamie and John are just inches away from a good old-fashioned hate bang. Let's relieve a but of that sexual tension, aye?
> 
> This fills my Bad Things Happen Bingo square: **Grabbed by the Hair**
> 
> It also fills my Outlander Bingo square: **Inopportune boners and what to do about them.**

For once in this sordid dance of theirs, Lord John was the first one to resort to physical aggression. He found his fists tangled in Jamie Fraser’s shirtfront before he’d been cognizant of having moved. “You, sir, are an insufferable arse. I have never met a man with as brilliant a mind as yours who jumps to such wild, inane conclusions in my life.”

Jamie’s hands shot up, breaking John’s hold on him and shoving him away. “Take your hands off me, ye wee English bugger,” he growled. “‘Inane,’ is it?”

“Oh, no,” John said, closing the distance again. Red colored the edges of his vision as he glared daggers up at Fraser. “You don’t get to threaten me and attack me at your pleasure and order  _ me _ to unhand  _ you _ .” Grey shoved Fraser’s chest and the Scot stumbled into the wainscoting behind him with a crack. “If you intend to serve the dish,  _ Mister Fraser _ , you had better be willing to fucking eat it yourself.”

Fraser’s eyes blazed with a fiery rage and Grey met him glower for emblazoned glower. “If it’s a fair fight ye want,  _ Colonel _ , I suggest swords at dawn.”

John let loose a growl from deep in his throat and fisted Fraser’s shirt again, eyes narrowed up at him. “Why must it always be violence with you, Fraser? You speak half a dozen languages at least and fisticuffs is the only one you can remember around me, is that it?”

“Aye, that’s right, an’ ye’re the one who drew first this time,” Fraser bit back. He didn’t bother removing John’s hands from his shirt. He pivoted with all the power in his shoulders and hips, planting John’s back squarely into the wall next to the crack Jamie’s own back had made. “Ye and yer God damned brother and that fucking hack Quarry have made a pawn of me for the last time.” He loomed over Grey, so close that he couldn’t see all of Fraser’s face. Just those blazing blue eyes and enraged, sneering mouth.

“You’re right!” John yelled. Fraser’s eyes went wide for an instant before that infuriatingly impenetrable mask fell into place over them. “Hal is blackmailing you. Quarry had you in fetters for a year and a half.” Fraser’s left hand--his dominant hand, Grey noted--was braced at the base of his throat. All Jamie had to do was slide that big hand up a few inches and apply pressure and he’d be strangling John. He felt so wretched for the entire situation that he half hoped Fraser would do it. But no, he wouldn’t.

Fraser’s left hand slid up an inch and applied pressure. It wouldn’t strangle him, but Grey felt his airway narrow and he fought the urge to panic. On reflex, he beat at Jamie’s arm with his fist, but to no avail. Fraser’s right hand caught Grey’s wrist and shoved it into the wall above his head. John’s back was quite literally to the wall, Jamie Fraser’s hips pressed into him, holding him pinned like a butterfly to parchment.

And then John felt it. His neck craned to meet Fraser’s eyes, but he managed. Jamie Fraser had a cockstand. Something wicked snapped inside Grey’s brain and let the words fly without a second thought. “And you don’t know what to do with  _ me _ , do you? When did you first realize you wanted me, James Fraser? Was it last year at Helwater? Or was it when I had you flogged in Ardsmuir?”

The hand closed on John’s throat at that. “The only thing I want to do with ye,  _ Lord John _ is kill ye where ye stand.”

John forced down his rising mortal fear. “Be. My. Guest,” he croaked out.

For a very long moment they glared daggers at each other, Grey’s vision going black about the edges. Then the pressure was gone and glorious air filled his lungs with a gasp. His sucked in a gulping breath and stopped short when Jamie fucking Fraser’s mouth closed on his.

Grey worked his left arm between them and shoved Jamie back as far as he could, which wasn’t far under the circumstances. “What do you think you’re  _ doing? _ ” he demanded.

“Trying a new tactic,” Jamie said and surged forward again.

John, for some unknown bloody reason, ducked his head to the side, dodging Fraser’s second attempt. He was out of ideas too but his anger wouldn’t abate. His right hand was still pinned above him, the flesh of his wrist developing a scandalous bruise. Grey’s left hand was still between them, cramping under the press of Jamie’s bodyweight. It was no great effort to close his hand around Jamie’s hard cock where it dug into John’s hip.

Jamie swore in French and he released Grey’s trapped hand. His fists closed around John’s waistcoat and hurled him toward the small table, leaving a trail of ejected buttons. John fell into the table, the ornate wood splintering under his weight and knocking the wind out of him. Grey wheezed, rolling to his side and collapsing onto the Turkey carpet. He saw spots again--Jesus Christ, Fraser might actually kill him-- and concentrated on reinflating his lungs. 

“You,” he wheezed, choked, gasped, and began again. “You fucking Scotch bastard,” John wheezed, tugging his stock from his throat and flinging it to the floor.

Fraser loomed over him. “Get on yer knees,” he growled.

For an instant John almost obeyed. But he dragged himself to a low crouch and lunged at Fraser, wrapping his arms around the bigger man’s waist. He drove them both to the floorboards with a jolt that rattled the house. John straddled Jamie, both of them conspicuously, painfully hard. “God damn you, Fraser,” he growled. “Would you make up your fucking mind about me? Do you hate me or want me? It cannot be both.”

Fraser executed a maneuver that Grey didn’t have a chance to track. He found himself sprawled against the opposite wall, which cracked under the force of his body colliding with it. Jamie didn’t afford him the courtesy of time to collect himself. Rough hands dragged John upright and to his knees and he found himself at eye-level with Jamie’s open flies. Sweet Jesus, Fraser was serious.

“If my cock is all that’ll stop yer raving, ye mad, English bastard, then open yer mouth, aye,” Fraser ordered.

And John obeyed. Of course he bloody obeyed. He wanted this, craved it, dreamed about it nightly. He opened his mouth and the solid girth of Jamie Fraser’s prick slid over his tongue. One or both of them moaned, John couldn’t tell. The head of Jamie’s leaking cock collided with the back of his throat and John exhaled through his nose to swallow around it.

Jamie’s fingers twisted in John’s hair, forcing him to look up at the Scot’s face. Fraser’s own ruddy mane was a wild mess of tangled curls, like fiery vengeance. Grey’s scalp burned and he breathed through the pain as he fought to comply.

“Watch me,” Jamie growled down to him. “Watch me while I have yer mouth.”

Grey wanted nothing more. He was breathless at the prospect of watching James Fraser fall apart above him, his cock thrusting in and out of Lord John’s mouth, using him. Jamie’s face was a symphony of emotion. It cycled through rage to pleasure and impending ecstasy and back to a ferocity that Grey couldn’t name.

“Christ, John,” Jamie gasped. That brutish hand fisted John’s hair again, dragging him back to his feet. Saliva dripped from the corner of John’s mouth and he dragged Jamie’s lips down to his.

Grey pressed the advance, driving Jamie back a step with the force of his hungry kiss. Fraser’s cock was leaking already and John chased the taste of it with his tongue, driving it back into Jamie’s mouth. “You,” John said. “Are the most,” he pulled back, dragging his teeth over Fraser’s lower lip. “Infuriating,” Jamie’s tongue plunged into John’s mouth. “Son of a bitch,” more clashing teeth.

Fraser made a low rumble in his throat. “Jesus Christ, John, stop talking, aye?” He shoved John hard, and Grey fell into the side of the bedstead. The force of the collision sent the entire piece of furniture skidding across the floorboards and crashing into the wall. More crumbled plaster fell to the floor.

Under better circumstances, Grey would have been more careful, but to hell with Hal and to hell with Argus House. The plaster ceiling could very well fall directly onto Hal’s head while he drank is fucking tea for all John cared.

Jamie’s strong hands caught John by the ankles and dragged him back, his shirt coming out of his breeches, the Turkey carpet abrading his bared back. The pain of it made John swear in German and he wrapped his legs around Fraser’s waist, locking his ankles. “Make me, Fraser,” he snarled.

Fraser pounced, his hands jarring John’s shoulders against the hard floor. “Fuck ye, ye wee English bastard,” he snarled.

“Fuck me yourself, you coward,” John spat back and ground his ass against Jamie’s still-hard and exposed cock.

In another one of those lightning-fast maneuvers, Jamie flipped John onto his stomach, crushing him to the carpet with his torso. His breath was hot and moist in John’s ear. “Aye, I will, ‘an ye’ll nae squawk about it, will ye?”

If John bit the inside of his cheek anymore he’d be drinking his own blood. More than anything he wanted Jamie inside of him, needed Fraser to claim him, own him, make him beg. He struggled to work his breeches down with Jamie’s bulk trapping him against the garish carpet. The weight of the man’s body was gone for an instant, his hands dipping into Grey’s breeches and forcing them down and off with a protest of ripped seams. Then Fraser was atop him again. Grey yelped as his own hard cock was driven into the floor, the head scraping against the carpet.

“I do  _ not _ squawk!’ John protested, getting a knee under himself and heaving them both off the floor.

Jamie gripped John's hips and yanked him back, the Scot's prick skimming the cleft of his backside. "Aye," he said, sinking his teeth into the back of John's neck. "Ye do."

Grey supposed the noise he made in response to the bite-- _ Christ was he bleeding _ \--might have been categorized as a squawk. But that was entirely beside the point. Fraser's solid weight and iron embrace enveloped him. The lips and teeth devilling his neck were infuriating, but Grey refused to surrender so easily. He bucked back, shoving Jamie to the side and scrambled forward.

John got one hand around the bedpost and used it as leverage to haul himself upright. Apparently, the bed’s sudden trip across the room had weakened the frame. The post gave way in his hand, sending John back to the floor in a most undignified heap. Jamie was astride him so fast that Grey’s mouth was still open in shock when Fraser claimed it in another furious kiss.

"Are ye going to gi' me yer arse or no?" Fraser growled into Grey's mouth.

John dug his fingernails into the back of Jamie's neck, holding him in place for another violent collision of lips. "Yes I bloody will." He broke away for a gasping breath and to drag Jamie's shirt off over his head, tossing it away.

Fury twisted Fraser’s face as he reared up, his rough hands tearing John’s shirt from top to bottom. He ripped the ruined, sweaty thing from Grey's arms. It dragged over John’s carpet-burned back, delicious fire that licked his flesh. John hissed and the pain made him shudder with pleasure. John took both of their hard cocks in his hand, squeezing them together. Fraser gasped and John kissed him hard, drinking in the sound.

“Yes, I bloody will,” John repeated and took another open-mouthed kiss as he stroked them both roughly. “And you are going face me,” Grey bit Jamie’s bottom lip. “The entire time.” Another stroke, another intrusive kiss. “And I,” kiss, “am going to watch you,” bite, “fall apart.”

Jamie growled into Grey’s mouth. “Christ, ye’re a demanding wee shite.”

John shoved at Jamie’s shoulders with both hands and rolled him onto his back, holding Jamie pinned to the floor. “Stop,” he said through gritted teeth as he straddled Fraser. “...calling me,” he gripped the base of Jamie’s cock and lined him up, “...’wee!’” He sank down on Jamie faster than he would have liked, but it more effectively made his point.

“Oh God,” Jamie groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head.

John breathed through the stretch and drag, only the first drops of Jamie’s prerelease easing the way. The ache was decadent, rather than unsettling as it usually was, but  _ God damn Jamie Fraser wasn’t watching _ . John tangled his fist into the wild locks on the top of Jamie's head and tugged until his eyes settled on John. He hovered inches from Fraser’s face, held his gaze in a ferocious grip.

“Eyes. On. Me,” Grey said in a harsh whisper. John yanked Jamie’s head to the side and latched his mouth onto his throat. He sucked and bit a wicked mark into his sweat-salty flesh. Fraser let out another of his deep groans and John began to move, taking Jamie in and out of him in deliberately measured thrusts.

Jamie muttered in Gaelic and dug his fingers into the tops of John’s thighs. He’d be able to count ten bruises in a few hours. Fraser made the most luxurious sounds between gasping breaths and John responded in kind. They spurred each on, the wavering glow from the fire reflecting off the sweat covering them. Grey covered Jamie’s left hand with his right, worked his fingers under Jamie’s palm, and left it there. He bent low again and claimed Jaime’s mouth in another kiss, desperate, breathtaking, starving, not sacrificing his rhythm. When Grey came up for air, Jamie’s gaze snapped back to John’s eyes, clouded with foggy lust. John squeezed Jamie’s hand in his and waited, watching.

He saw it happen. Saw the last vestiges of rage fade away, saw the walls behind Jamie’s eyes crumble. Grey stroked Jamie’s hair with his free hand and felt his own features soften. The anger and ferocity that had led them here were at last exorcised by the very passion it had created. “There’s a good lad,” John whispered against Jamie’s parted lips.

“John--” Jamie began and Grey shook his head, silencing him.

“Just let it be good,” John murmured.

“Aye, it is,” Fraser agreed

John lifted Jamie’s left hand from his thigh. “Touch me, Jamie. Please,” he said, guiding Fraser’s hand to his prick, leaking and desperate between them. Jamie’s hand closed around him and John moaned openly, refusing to hold back as he rode this man to the inevitable conclusion. “Oh sweet Jesus and stars above,” he gasped.

Jamie’s body grew tense under him. “Christ, John, I cannae last.” There was a shudder in his voice, thready with utter desperation.

“Then don’t,” Grey said, his own climax approaching like a comet. He’d expected a litany of blasphemous curses, but instead Jamie gripped the back of John’s neck and dragged him down for a kiss. 

Jamie came first, John tumbling over the precipice immediately after him. They clung to each other, trembling from passion and fatigue and spent homicidal mania, gasping for breath.

At last John lifted himself off of Jamie and collapsed onto his back on the unforgiving floor. The air was close and steamy, smelling of sweat and seed and sweet brandy.  _ That’s odd, _ Grey thought, and looked around the room. His narrowed eyes landed on the smashed table and the glittering remains of a shattered decanter. Christ, it was a wonder they weren’t covered in broken crystal.

Jamie and John sat up slowly, their eyes surveying the damage, of which there was a great deal. There were at least three patches of cracked plaster, the destroyed table and it’s scattered contents, the crippled bed.

“Yer brother willnae be much pleased,” Fraser said, his expression devoid of remorse or regret.

John waved it off. “Oh, to the devil with my brother. He’s been an utter arse and he deserves a little vandalism.” His eyes landed on his shredded clothes and he winced. “Tom, however, is another matter. He will be most put out by the state of what remains of my clothes. This may be the very thing that causes his head to explode.”

Jamie laughed, a pure sound that made Grey’s heart swell with warmth. John laughed too, as much from sheer relief as mirth. He laid his head on Jamie’s shoulder, pressed a kiss to the heated skin there.

“What now?” Jamie asked in a low voice.

John took a deep breath and blew it out again. “I suppose all we can do is try to soldier on with whatever God damn scheme Hal has us in for.”

Jamie made an annoyed grunt in his throat. “I am nay too fond of yer brother.”

Grey snorted. “Welcome to the club. We meet every Monday, Thursday, and Saturday.” He hauled himself to his feet with a groan. Christ, it felt like he’d survived yet another beating.  _ Oh. Right, _ he thought, and laughed again. He offered a hand to Jamie, who accepted, and John helped him to his feet. “I should probably think of a way to break it to Tom gently. He’s far too young to suffer an apoplexy.”


End file.
